


Scares Us Bad So We'll Have to be Bold

by Cottonstones



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2012-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-08 07:03:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cottonstones/pseuds/Cottonstones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian's been blacking out. He's scared to tell his band.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scares Us Bad So We'll Have to be Bold

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Good Day" by Jukebox the Ghost.

Ian feels like he's losing minutes, little spans of time, with enough frequency that it's starting to scare him. He doesn't remember anything in those expanses of time. Everything before and after is fine, but during...he doesn't know. He hasn't told anyone yet. He's sort of afraid to. What if Brendon and the others don't want him after he tells them? What if Zack makes him go home? He thinks about asking Brendon about it, of going to Brendon, because Ian always seems to be around Brendon when he comes out of those black-outs. Brendon never looks at him funny, never says anything odd. He doesn't bring up shit that Ian doesn't know about. He just keeps rolling with the last thing Ian remembers doing before remembering nothing.

One day, he wakes up and something seems to have happened to him in that space of nothingness. He wakes up sore. His thighs ache like he ran for miles or he got into a bad fight and got his ass handed to him. Ian decides to ask Brendon – because it was also the first time that Ian woke up with no one around him and that definitely wasn't how he was before he blacked out or whatever. He had been sitting with Spencer and Brendon, watching a shitty movie.

"Brendon? Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?" Ian asks. Brendon is in his bunk, texting, but he nods and slips his phone into the waistband of his sweatpants.

"Sure, Shredder," Brendon says. Ian squeezes into Brendon's bunk. They're both tiny guys, so there's still some room left over. "What's up, bud?" Brendon looks concerned and sleep-soft and Ian feels like he knows what Brendon's mouth tastes like even though he doesn't.

"Well," Ian starts, fidgeting a little. "Do you know what I've been doing for the last couple hours?" Brendon arches an eyebrow in what looks like a sad attempt at a Spencer impression, shaking his head.

"I've been napping in here for the last couple of hours, Ian. Don't you know what you've been doing?" Ian bites his lip and keeps his eyes glued to the fluffy blanket spread underneath Brendon. He can feel Brendon's gaze on him. He flushes a little but isn't sure why.

"Well, no? I mean, I've kind of been feeling sort of weird lately."

Ian finally meets Brendon's eyes and sees not anger or fear, but genuine concern. "Come here and tell me more," Brendon says, patting his chest. Ian doesn't hesitate. He curls into Brendon and rests his head on Brendon's chest, his cheek rising and falling with Brendon's breathing rhythm.

"I've been losing time, I guess, or my memory. Maybe I've been smoking too much pot."

“There's no such thing as smoking too much pot," Brendon says instead of something helpful. His hand finds Ian's head. He twines his fingers in Ian's hair. "You're probably just stressed. Sometimes, I look and don't know where all the hours in my day went. Have you told Dallon or Spencer about this yet?"

"I didn't say anything to Dallon or Spencer. I was kind of afraid you guys wouldn't want me anymore." Ian closes his eyes and counts the beats of Brendon's heart. Brendon touches his shoulder and hums.

"It'll be our secret, then," Brendon says. Ian's stomach blossoms with warmth. He's so thankful Brendon understands. He lays there with his eyes closed when he hears Brendon start to talk – really, ‘whisper’ would be a more accurate word. His hand is curled around the back of Ian's neck and he's speaking what sounds like nonsense to Ian. His words are comforting all the same, though. Ian’s eyes feel heavy and suddenly, he's so tired – and hey, he doesn't feel the stretch in his thighs as much anymore! He's focused completely on Brendon, on the thick, gravelly curl of his voice swooping down on Ian, keeping his attention rapt.

Ian feels like there's a haze over him. He feels like he's dreaming, but he can still hear Brendon. He can hear Brendon telling – not asking, telling -- him to move. Ian does so without a question. Ian is lying down on Brendon's bunk on his stomach and he doesn't know when that happened, but he's fine because Brendon's talking and he's so warm and comfortable. There’s a heavy feeling of safety that settles in Ian's stomach. Brendon will take care of him in this place.

Ian feels phantom touches on his back. There are palms that are warm and rough easing off his Star Wars t-shirt. Ian's head swims, but he feels so warm. He doesn't want to move. He's waiting for something, some kind of signal. He doesn't know what to look for, but he knows that he’ll know it when it comes along. It takes him a painfully long time to gather that the touches aren't figments in his head or ghosts of lovers past. It's Brendon. He recognizes the cool metal of the fan ring that Brendon still wears as his fingers remove the fabric and brush warmly down the little concave of his lower back.

"Don't start to ask too many questions when you're free of mind," a voice tells Ian and oh, he should listen to that voice because it is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. "You'll cause trouble." The voice is deep and it's – it’s Brendon, too. There's a kiss to Ian's ear. He shivers and waits and then, there's silence. "You don't want to cause trouble, Ian. Do you?"

Ian presses his face into the pillow and makes a tiny noise. "No, I don't want to make trouble. I love it here," he finds himself saying and the hand – Brendon's hand? – rewards him by curling into his hair and rubbing its calloused fingertips against his scalp. Another hand touches his hip and it's like a spark to Ian's brain. That's the signal he's been waiting for. He rolls on to his back. He can see the misty, dim world of Brendon's bunk, but now it looks like it extends on forever in all directions. Ian feels a little like they're deep underwater, millions of miles under the surface. Brendon is above him, an impossible distance away for how close Ian can feel his hands. There are dark eyes and a smiling face, distorted just a little, enough to set this small thread of discontent in his stomach.

Brendon's hands are sure and strong when he reaches for Ian's waistband without hesitation. Brendon unbuckles the belt Ian's wearing. Carefully, like he's unwrapping a cherished gift, Brendon slides the belt from the loops. Ian alternates between trying to watch him, trying to soak up the images, and staring at the endlessly star-dotted ceiling of Brendon’s bunk. He's got a nagging feeling that he's forgetting something.

"Stop thinking so much," Brendon says.

"Right," Ian says. "Okay."

"You need to just let me handle everything. I'll take all of your worries from you. I'll control every fear, every endless thought, so that you don’t have to. You have to trust me, Ian," Brendon says. His eyes grow serious. They resemble burning embers of a dying fire. Ian closes his own eyes because he can't stand the heat. "Do you, Ian?" he asks. "Do you trust me?"

Ian feels a hand opening his jeans, skilled fingers tugging down the zipper. He doesn't even question it. Brendon said he'd take care of everything. Surely, if someone wanted to hurt him, Brendon wouldn't let it happen. Here, in this dreamy space, no one can touch him. There's no rushing about, nothing but drifting and letting someone else – Brendon – run the show. It's what he's best at. He's a showman, after all. Ian's pants are off before he even finishes his thought. He doesn't even remember moving to help get them off. Brendon touches his hip again and Ian rolls back over on his belly without question.

Ian's naked. He's not self-conscious or worried; he doesn’t even question why he needs to be naked here. Brendon's hands are on his shoulders, fingers feeling feather-light on his back, creeping down across previously aching muscle. The touch travels lower, down to the swell above his ass. Ian's eyelashes flutter. He breathes soft and deep into the pillow. It smells like sweat and Brendon. Ian likes that.

Brendon touches Ian's feet, running his fingers up the soles and then brushing over his ankles, his calves, up his inner thighs. He spreads Ian open carefully, pushing his legs apart. Ian turns his head on the pillow and huffs out carefully. He's aching for something he doesn't know, something he doesn't think he ever had but distantly remembers. He has dizzying memories and half-dreams colliding to the point where Ian can't distinguish what has and hasn't happened to him.

A lot of things happen in rapid succession. There's a wet, popping noise and then there's a damp rough heat pressing between Ian's ass cheeks. Ian gasps but stays relaxed because that's what Brendon's whispering in his ear. Brendon's finger runs the rim of Ian's asshole. Ian's fingers are tightening in the sheets just a little because Brendon's rubbing his thumb against the muscle in agonizingly slow circles.

Ian groans when Brendon presses against his hole. He dips the tip of his finger inside. Ian stays still. He lets Brendon decide what they're going to do. Brendon kisses the back of his shoulder. His legs are open on either side of Ian's hips and Ian can feel the scratch of fabric against his naked body.

“Don't be too loud," Brendon says. Ian doesn't know why. Who needs to be quiet when there's nothing but them? Ian agrees, though. He nods and Brendon rewards him by sinking his teeth into the skin below the back of Ian's shoulder. Ian feels his body shaking by the time Brendon sinks his finger inside up to the knuckle. He's otherwise still and it's not hard to take the stretch when it's just this even though Ian doesn't remember being fucked recently.

Brendon curls his finger. Ian cries out louder than he means to when Brendon brushes just barely against his prostate. He nuzzles into the pillow and presses back as indiscreetly as he can. He doesn't want Brendon reprimanding him. Brendon pulls back suddenly. Ian had been hoping for more, not less, but he lies perfectly still against the sheets, afraid that he’s done something wrong.

"Bring your ass up," Brendon says. Ian pushes himself up on his hands and knees, pressing his ass back for Brendon when he places a hand on Ian's lower back. "Just your ass," Brendon clarifies. He moves his hand to Ian's shoulder and presses down so that Ian's top half collapses into the bunk.

Ian is confused for a moment before he feels the wet, insistent press of Brendon's tongue against his asshole. Ian sobs, sudden and harsh, and presses back in surprise.

Brendon's tongue is pressed flat against Ian's hole. He pulls Ian closer and points his tongue, running it around the tight ring of muscle. Ian gasps, his stomach rolling, and fists the sheets with both hands. Right now, he can't quite – he feels like – God, everything is so much.

Brendon’s tongue slips inside but the feeling doesn't last for long. Brendon pulls back and Ian moans because no, please, he wants that feeling again. The whole world is minimized to nothing but he and Brendon. He's dependent on Brendon to give him everything he needs. Brendon laps at Ian's hole, his tongue running over the muscle in long, damp strokes, teasing. For the first time since this whole thing began, Ian feels his cock pulse heavy and half-hard between his thighs.

Brendon doesn’t stay inside long – certainly not long enough for Ian, at least, though forever might not be long enough for Ian at this point. His tongue is licking flat strokes over Ian’s entrance. Ian presses his face against his arm because he dimly remembers Brendon telling him that quiet is better. His own breathing is so loud to his ears. He wishes he could tell Brendon what he’s feeling right now, but that would require Brendon’s face leaving Ian’s ass and he isn’t sure he wants to tell Brendon about how his chest feels like it’s going to burst from this as much as he wants to feel Brendon’s tongue slick and damp inside of him.

Ian feels a kiss being pressed to his ass cheek – first the left and then the right and then Brendon’s tongue is out again, and he’s creating little damp paths down the skin of Ian’s ass, passing his asshole completely and going lower, down to Ian’s balls. Ian slaps his hand over his mouth to stop the cry he knows is coming when Brendon sucks one of Ian’s balls into his mouth. A red hot heat fills him up – he doesn’t know what he wants. He wants Brendon to tell him what he wants, to give it to him without Ian having to speak a word.

He’s shaking, more aware of himself now than he was at the beginning – whenever the beginning was, anyway, because he can’t recall right now how he got here. He feels like he’s always been here, that he always will be. Brendon shifts to take in Ian’s other ball, rolling it lightly in the heat of his mouth, his perfect, golden tongue curling against sensitive skin. Ian is mumbling into the skin of his arms, fully hard between his legs.

Brendon pulls away and moves back up. He spreads Ian’s ass cheeks apart and blows cool air over Ian’s heated, exposed skin. Ian doesn’t touch himself – surely, if Brendon thought he should, he’d tell Ian to do it, or he’d touch Ian’s cock himself. Brendon plants the heels of his hands more firmly against Ian’s ass cheeks and he spreads Ian wider and Ian only has time to take a breath before Brendon’s mouth is back on him.

It’s filthy, dirty, and wet. Brendon is licking over his entrance relentlessly. Ian can feel the nudge of his nose as Brendon tries to get closer, to get more of him. He’s fast, frantic, licking like he needs it as badly as Ian does. Ian’s thighs are shaking; he slips against the heated sheets, his body threatening to give out on him. Brendon feels him slide and one of his hands moves from Ian’s ass to his hip, gripping there to keep Ian in place.

Ian rubs his face in the pillows as the noise starts up again. Brendon is licking sure and firm. He starts tracing the rim again, slower now. Ian grunts, still struggling to hold in all the sounds he wants to release. He wants to scream and cry and beg for more, more, more. Brendon pushes back inside and Ian lets himself sob into the pillow, muffling the noise.

“Ian,” Brendon says after a moment. Ian thinks he’s going to be punished. He groans, lamenting the fact that he’s lost Brendon’s tongue so soon after he had it inside. “Do you want me to touch your cock?”

“Oh, please,” Ian says. He turns his face sideways into the pillow. He’s sweating and his hair is in his eyes and he wants to be touched so badly. “Please, Brendon?”

Brendon laughs soft and low and Ian shivers. He waits and then he feels Brendon’s fingers skimming his thighs before Brendon touches his balls. Ian props himself up a little because the pillow is damp with his sweat and he feels like he can’t breathe. He pants harsh in the air. “You’re so hard for me, Ian,” Brendon says. He sounds amused or awed or both. Either way, Ian wants to hear him sounding like that forever. “That must mean you really want this, right?”

Ian nods. “I do. I do. Please.”

“Now if you could just admit to yourself that you want it this badly,” Brendon says. He’s rolling Ian’s balls in his hands as he talks and it’s so hard for Ian to focus on what he’s saying. As far as he knows, he’s very clearly on board with this plan.

“I want it, Brendon,” Ian repeats in case Brendon didn’t hear him right the first time. “I want you.”

Brendon skates a hand up Ian’s sweat-slicked back. His other hand moves to touch the leaking head of Ian’s cock. Ian groans as the palm of Brendon’s hand glides around the head of his dick, collecting all the slick pre-come there. Ian spreads his legs wider and Brendon curls his hand around Ian’s cock. He strokes slow at first, teasing. Ian makes this embarrassing whiny noise. His head feels foggy again, his body feels heavy, and all he can focus on is the feel of Brendon’s hand on his cock and his hip.

The pace picks up after that – or maybe it just feels like that because Ian’s heart is racing. Brendon speeds up a little, his grip just this side of too tight. To make up for that, he leans his head back to Ian’s ass and starts his licking again. Ian cries out without even attempting to hide it, but Brendon doesn’t stop what he’s doing. Ian’s caught. He’s trapped between wanting to push his ass back against Brendon’s mouth and wanting to push forward into the grip of his hand. In the end, he shakes on his hands and knees and lets Brendon lick him and touch him and push him ever closer to the edge.

It isn’t long between Brendon’s eager mouth – he’s tonguing Ian much faster than he’s jerking him off – and his steady hand that Ian feels like he’s going to fall apart. Even before Ian was naked, he felt like he was on a certain edge – he was excited about something, his stomach set tight. He feels like his body had been anticipating something that the rest of him had yet to catch up on.

“Are you close?” Ian hears Brendon asks. His voice is rough and Ian groans at that. He nods because he doesn’t think he can vocalize words right now. “Yeah,” Brendon says. He licks around Ian’s hole again. “I can feel you shaking.” Ian moans because he can feel Brendon’s words on his skin, on his asshole. He shivers again. Brendon stills his hand, squeezing Ian’s cock. “See how much you enjoy yourself when you don’t stand in your own way?” Brendon asks in between tiny licks. Ian nods even though he doesn’t understand Brendon’s words. He feels like they’re on two different levels, like Brendon is having a conversation with someone that Ian, in this wrung-out state, can’t see.

Brendon’s hand picks up again, faster this time. He feels the blunt scrape of Brendon’s teeth on his ass and he groans. He’s so close. He can’t hold himself up. Brendon takes care of this for him by releasing his cock and then moving his arms underneath of Ian’s legs, effectively picking his back end up and drawing him back and closer. Ian slides against the sheets and gives himself up completely to Brendon’s whims. None of it feels real, exactly; his head is swimming and his body is so hot and thrumming with arousal and Ian just wants to come and then happily fade back into the darkness where he surely came from.

Now that Brendon has him properly situated, he skates his fingers under Ian’s belly before reclaiming his cock again. He picks up as fast as he left off and Ian moans into the damp sheets under his face. With his hand moving fast, slicker now, Ian feels the wet spark of heat of Brendon’s tongue on him again. Brendon is probing slow, damp, licking. He’s drooling or something because Ian feels so wet, so open. The heat radiating from Brendon’s body and mouth collects on his skin. The tongue exploring him is so relentless, never ceasing even as Ian writhes around with his ass in Brendon’s face.

“Brendon,” Ian whispers. His voice feels dim and miles away from his own ears.

“I know,” Brendon says. Ian hums. Brendon already knows what he wants, what he needs. Brendon is going to take care of him. He promised, after all. Brendon’s skilled hands seem to know just where to touch him, like he’s explored here before, but Ian would know if he had and he doesn’t remember ever feeling this good. Brendon knows just how to twist his hand around the head of Ian’s dick, he knows that Ian likes to have the base of his cock squeezed just this side of too hard, he knows all of Ian’s spots right away. Brendon’s mouth is eager and Ian is toeing the edge of his orgasm.

Brendon hums against Ian’s asshole and Ian can feel it, feel it moving around inside of him, sinking into his bones and filling up the frame. Somehow, that’s more than the hands or the tongue and that’s what sends him screaming over the edge. He feels like he’s yelling, but he might not be saying a word or Brendon might have pushed his head down against sweat-stained sheets. Ian’s orgasm rips through him and the next thing he knows, he’s tumbled into the darkness.

When Ian comes back to himself, he’s laid out on his stomach, stretched out, his muscles aching, sweating all over. He shifts a little. He can feel knees on either side of his hips, caging him in. Brendon. Brendon is still there.

“Brendon?” Ian asks. His voice is rough to his own ears.

“Fuck, yeah, Ian. I’m right here. I’m close.” Brendon pants and Ian can hear the slick sound of skin on skin. Brendon is jerking off. The damp head of Brendon’s cock skates across the skin of Ian’s lower back and Ian shifts back against him. He makes Brendon’s cock slide against the line of his ass cheeks. He kind of wishes, in a hazy, afterthought sort of way, that Brendon would have fucked him. Even if he woke up with Brendon already fucking him, it would’ve been okay. Brendon wouldn’t hurt him. Right now, all Ian wishes was that he had a cock in his ass.

“You’re so lovely when you let go, Ian,” Brendon practically coos. Ian rocks his hips up again so Brendon’s cock bumps his skin, leaving slick marks of pre-come on Ian’s skin. He isn’t sure what Brendon means, but whatever it is, he’ll keep doing if this is the reward he gets. He lets Brendon’s noises, his voice, seep into him, filling up all the loose spaces until Ian is all warm and comfortable again. “You’re going to make me come just from this – just from listening to me, Ian.”

Brendon starts swearing and his hands come down on either side of Ian’s head, his hips pressing up against Ian’s ass. He’s rutting against Ian, his cock sliding wetly against Ian’s ass and lower back. Brendon bites the shell of Ian’s ear and whispers a word that’s too breathy for Ian to distinguish. His hand tangles in Ian’s hair and he turns Ian’s head to the side.

Brendon humps Ian’s ass ragged and fast and then Brendon stills. Ian can feel his come against his lower back. Brendon falls on top of him after that, sweating and smearing come between their bodies. Brendon kisses his ear, using the hand in his hair to twist his head and slide his lips against Ian’s, claiming his mouth. Ian closes his eyes. It feels like he’s sinking into the mattress or being absorbed into Brendon when they’re that close and Ian can’t feel his heartbeat without Brendon’s following right behind it. That’s when Brendon rolls off of him and drops down beside of him.

The dark, foggy sea closes in around Ian again, but Brendon’s touching his face with sticky fingers, making out with him slow and sweet. Everything is moving in slow motion. Ian’s eyes flutter closed. He goes under to the sound of Brendon’s breathing and the press of Brendon’s lips against his skin.

Ian wakes up in Brendon’s bunk, but Brendon isn’t there. He shifts and yawns, wide and loud. He blinks against the sun coming in from the opening in the curtain surrounding the bunk. Ian thinks back to before he fell asleep. He’d been talking to Brendon and – oh, well, he must’ve fallen asleep while they were talking. Ian shifts a hand through his hair and stretches as he sits up. He feels funny, loose-limbed and more tired than he thinks he should be if he had been napping for close to two hours now. He feels happy, though. He isn’t sure why, considering he was pretty worried prior to talking to Brendon in his bunk. The conversation must’ve helped, then.

Spencer and Dallon are in the lounge playing a video game when Ian walks in. Spencer barely spares him a glance – you can’t give Dallon a chance to banana peel you in Mario Kart because he’ll take it.

“Where’s Brendon?” Ian asks. He stretches again.

“He’s in the bathroom, I think,” Spencer says before he starts a string of curses because Dallon got the invincibility star. Ian nods and pads to the bathroom. The water isn’t running, so Ian knocks before he opens the door. Brendon is rubbing a towel over his damp hair. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxers slung just a little too low. He looks and Ian from under his towel with a ridiculous smile. For some reason, his gaze heats Ian up, making him shift uncomfortable under Brendon’s warm gaze.

“Hey, did I fall asleep while we were talking?” Ian asks.

“Yeah, you did. Not a big deal, though.” Brendon smiles again. Ian feels a little giddy.

“Well, sorry all the same. You should’ve just woke me up and told me to go to my own bunk.”

Brendon shrugs. “Hey, are you hungry?” he asks – and huh, yeah, Ian is, actually.

“I could eat.”

“Cool. Zack said we’re stopping at Denny’s in ten.”

Ian smiles. “Awesome.”

Brendon steps up to Ian and drapes a shower-cool arm around his shoulder. Ian’s skin tingles where Brendon is touching him. “Let’s go sabotage Dallon in Mario Kart,” Brendon says. Ian laughs and allows himself to be lead back to the lounge again.


End file.
